Eye of the Beholder
by seven dragons
Summary: Lucien Blake has artistic aspirations, much to everyone's amusement.


**Author's note: Thanks to Savedher for the writing prompt. This takes place sometime in season 1.**

"Are we done yet?"

"Hold still."

"I am holding still. I have to get the roast on you know."

"Just a few more minutes."

"This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous. It's...Mattie!"

Mattie's head poked around the corner into the dining room, enticed from her studies by the noise. Lucien sat on a dining room chair in front of an easel. The table was covered with paint tubes, brushes, and palettes. A few feet away, Jean sat looking cross.

"What on earth is going on here?"

Lucien put down his brush and smiled.

"I found some of my mom's old painting supplies out in the shed. She was quite an accomplished painter and I used to be a fair hand at drawing myself, so I thought I'd give it a go."

"And you're painting Jean?"

Lucien nodded enthusiastically.

"More like holding me prisoner."

Mattie cut Jean off, "How wonderful!"

Mattie quickly walked across the dining room and glanced over Lucien's shoulder. Lucien looked back at her, waiting.

"Well, what do you think?"

"It's lovely! I didn't know your mother was an abstract painter."

Lucien's face fell.

"She wasn't. She was classically trained."

"Oh. But you're going for an abstract look here."

Lucien gave her a reproachful look.

"Not really."

Mattie decided it was best to change the subject.

"Why are you out here? Don't you have a whole studio just down the hall?"

"That's what I said!"

"Thank you, Jean," Lucien growled, "Stop talking and hold still."

Jean rolled her eyes and looked as if she were about to say something nasty, but instead let out a huff and otherwise stayed quiet. Mattie suppressed a giggle.

"Oi, what's going on here?"

Danny came into the room, a biscuit tin cradled in his arm. Jean turned around.

"Danny you didn't eat all the biscuits, did you?"

"There was only one left. I've been fishing the crumbs out of the bottom."

Jean rolled her eyes. Mattie glared at him.

"That's so gross, Danny."

"What do you care?"

Lucien raised his voice.

"Jean, ignore them and turn around please. And try to hold still."

"Stop saying that."

"Then stop moving!"

Danny turned his attention away from Mattie.

"So what are you doing, anyway?"

Mattie stood over Lucien proudly.

"Lucien is painting Jean's portrait."

Danny laughed.

"No way."

Lucien's voiced was strained, "I don't see what's so funny about it, Danny."

"What, you doc? An artist?"

"My mother was a painter. I thought I'd try my hand at it."

Danny appeared to be considering the situation.

"Why are you in the dining room? Don't you have a studio in the house somewhere?"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"It's a long story. This works just fine."

"If you don't mind scrubbing paint off the dining room table."

Everyone looked in the direction of the retort but Jean was holding still, posing angellically.

Danny grinned.

"All right, let's see then. Show me some art."

Danny walked over next to Mattie and looked at the painting. He paused.

"That's...that's real good doc. What is it, an ice cream cone?"

"What? No!"

"Wait, ok then. No, still looks like ice cream to me. But why is the ice cream cone wearing Aunty Jean's watch?"

Mattie crossed her arms defiantly.

"It's abstract."

Blake turned back to face them.

"It's not abstract!"

"That's it! I have work to do!"

Jean got up and stormed off.

Lucien peered around the easel and called after her.

"I'll just finish this from memory, shall I?"

He received no response.

Danny looked down sympathetically.

"It's nice. It really is."

"Oh yes," Mattie agreed.

After a few awkward moments Danny and Mattie decided to leave Lucien to finish his work.

Just before dinner Jean came back into the room.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Is it finished?"

"As finished as it will ever be, I guess."

Jean walked around to the front of the easel.

"Maybe I should leave the painting to my mother, eh?"

Suddenly Jean reached over Lucien and lifted the canvas off the easel.

"Jean, what are you doing?"

Jean smiled.

"It's my portrait, isn't it? I like it. I'm going to hang it in my room."

Without another word Jean headed upstairs, proudly carrying her painting. Lucien looked after her, smiling.


End file.
